


Submergence

by odalisque (fifteenstitches)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, murder descriptions but nothing worse than the show (is that possible?), spoilers for everything up to ep 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifteenstitches/pseuds/odalisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t care who I am,” Will says, followed by “Tell me,” and Hannibal smiles inwardly and obliges, because didn't God make man in his image?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submergence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend Amy's birthday, happy birthday dear! Contains over-developed ocean metaphors, occasionally disjointed POV switches, and very, very, _very _subtle slash (you can just about see it, right?)__

It’s 8:16am when they get the call. Just over the border to Maryland and less than twenty miles from Will’s home in Wolf Trap, a girl is found murdered, her broken body suspended between two trees by wires shot through her hands.

“Like a crucifixion,” says Jack, but Will can see that the wires knotted under her palms are strings. The air pulses. Excitement stirs inside him before he can get a handle on it.

“It’s not about religion.” He hears his voice distantly as if spoken by another. “She’s a puppet.” The tide rises to meet him and it’s so quick, now, so easy to let it sweep over him and drag him out to sea.

Loops of wire coiled on snowy ground. Will’s victim lies unconscious on her side. Her ankles are broken; joints on a wooden marionette, stopping her from moving. _Until I allow it_. He feels the curl of anticipation in his stomach, hears his heartbeat soft in his ears. _I move, she moves._ It’s like a dance. _Absolute control_.

Behind him, the crunch of an animal moving through the snow.

Suddenly uneasy, Will pauses. The scene flickers. He tries to turn but something stops him; he looks down and there are strings through his hands.

He wakes, gasping like he’s drowning. The clock says 8:16.

*

_You have me as your gauge, Hannibal says, careful to keep his voice reassuring and not simply instructive. Instructions aren’t needed here; suggestion is far more effective. Dependence is so easy to cultivate, and yet when it flowers it does so beautifully._

*

The pain in his head is constant and he hears voices with every breath. They throb inside his skull, sobs and screams, and worse, concerned muttering from people he looks straight through. Abigail is amongst them, but when he reaches for her she fades into darkness while the sound of rushing water in his ears builds to a crescendo. At first he thinks the shadow he sees so often in his dreams is Jack’s; by the time he realises it isn’t he can no longer tell darkness from light.

“You’re clean.” He can feel Beverly trying to meet his eyes. “You couldn’t have done this without getting something on you and there’s nothing on you.” There is something though, at the back of his mind, and two nights later he wakes with sweat soaking the sheets and an open pair of scissors in his hand.

*

_Even Hannibal Lecter has to suppress a shiver of pleasure when Will brings Gideon to his door, practically gift-wrapped, like a dog fetching a stick._

_Oh, good boy, Will._

 *

He calls Hannibal. It’s a bad idea and he knows it, it’s unfair to wake him at this hour, but dogs can only do so much and Will feels like if he doesn’t hear another human voice he’ll slip over the edge entirely. Already the lines are too blurred for him to see straight, and in the surreal suspended moments of the phone’s ringing he wonders desperately if he’s even awake at all. Then Hannibal answers, his voice sounding lower than usual on the dodgy line, and it feels like an anchor pulling Will to safety.

“I’m sorry to call you, I – I feel like I’m dissolving and I don’t know what to do.” The words come out in a rush. Will closes his eyes and tries a laugh that comes out like a sob.

There’s a pause before Hannibal says, “Would you like to come over?” and Will’s so grateful for the solidity of his presence he could weep.

It doesn’t occur to him that it’s the anchor that drags you under.

 *

_“I don’t care who I am,” Will says, followed by “Tell me,” and Hannibal smiles inwardly and obliges, because didn't God make man in his image?_

 *

There’s snow on the ground but Will can’t feel anything but numbness. Alana hovers in his sight, oblivious, warm light spilling towards him from the harbour of her window but never quite reaching the point where his feet meet the earth.

“We all want things that we can’t have,” says Hobbs, and Will feels the knife twist in his gut.

 


End file.
